


Can't Pretend

by enkiduu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkiduu/pseuds/enkiduu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles had always hoped for so much, too much, and now with all that hope gone, he has nothing left except heartbreak. His heart still beats, but he feels dead.  </p><p>He absolutely won't allow himself to ever hope again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Pretend

Charles has never been the naïve, effortlessly content man they all take him for; though sometimes, he wishes he were.

He wishes he doesn't have his regrets and his yearnings, his bitter rue. Every night, Charles closes his eyes and tries not to think about the empty space beside him, and how it won't ever be filled again. The hollow clench of his chest, the ache. 

People don't see that behind his generous caring smiles, the Professor has something to be sorry about, too. He has his demons, his darkness, his painful hopes. He always has, even before— _before_. 

Always, Charles the telepath, the professor. A natural leader, they say, possessing the necessary charm and intelligence. He's supposed to know it all, readily supply the solution to every problem.

And he does his best, he believes in the good, believes in redemption and second chances. 

( _Charles has always believed, because faith is all he has; without it, the disgusting, cruel world will eat him alive._ )

Everybody always comes to him for help, no one ever stays to consider, to ask—if he needs help—if he has lost his way, too.

Somewhere along the line, he's lost _Erik_ , who's taken _Raven_ , and _Erik took Raven and left_ , and that's...Well.

It feels like he's lost himself.

( _He has. And he's losing his mind too_.)

How can that be anyone's fault but his own? It was never meant to be. Charles shouldn't have tried to be happy, look where that's gotten him and those he loves.

Charles mustn't be selfish. No...He can't want so much, because he can never have what he wants.

He can't ( _won't_ ).

He only ever wanted to protect Raven, his sister, God. He tried for too long to see her as the little girl who'd broken in, starving and vulnerable. Raven, unable to fit in despite ironically having a mutation that lets her take on any identity she wants.

Charles had guided her, watched her grow up, grew up with her. But he had never stopped seeing her as that innocence, that brightness in his life he wanted to protect.

She doesn't need that protection from him. Charles knows that now, of course. Raven must have thought him overbearing, to control her for so long.

It's not what he meant to do.

Protecting Raven was—in a sense, perhaps—an unknowingly despairing move from Charles. Trying to protect himself, protect his own innocence, his laughter, despite intimately feeling the world's horror.

Charles learnt to be dearly careful about giving people choices, after that accident with discovering he can turn anyone into a marionette as easily as breathing. He will show them what is right, but he always lets them choose. Charles has to give them that choice.

Except himself, it seems.

That's since he's incapable of making a single decision that won't hurt.

Erik was his first, most selfish choice. A desire, the exception. Charles' desperately hopeful attempt to reach out, to have for himself. An equal.

A friend.

Charles Xavier is a friend to everyone, but he has no friends. He has just one.

He _had_ just one.

His first attempt at keeping someone close, so devastatingly close, and also his last, because Erik _left_ , and he took _Raven_ with him. That was Erik's choice.

Erik fucking abandoned him on a beach, ripping Charles' heart out, and left him to cripple.

His heart is what he's lost, not his legs. And—

God. Charles can't think about it for too long. About Erik. About the elusive happiness they'd shared, and how it was all bloody fake.

Or, at least, Charles tries to tell himself it was all fake: all a convincing attempt by Erik Lehnsherr to manipulate and exploit Charles Xavier--spoiled, arrogant, naïve telepath.

Except that's just it.

Charles Xavier is a telepath.

He can't pretend. 

So slowly, Charles rebuilds his life. Or whatever is left of it. The school for mutants. He pushes himself, because the children need him. It doesn't matter what _he_ needs.

The school will flourish, perhaps. People will be happy and safe here.

Charles has always clung to the good, because otherwise, the bad is unbearable. He refuses to acknowledge that people can be lost.

( _He doesn't want to lose himself, too; there's hope, there's always, only_ hope.)

Hank helps, dear, loyal Hank. And for awhile, things seem to getting better.

Charles thinks, smiling at his students, that maybe such deep wounds can heal, after all. His scars won't ever disappear, but he can still help others.

The bleak future might be salvageable. And as the hope grows again in him, Charles' smiles turn a little more genuine, a little more hopeful, every time.

Until one day, it all crashes down.

Erik, fucking Erik Lehnsherr, has killed the president.

Whatever hope Charles had leaves with the children out the door. Hope shatters and its sharp edges cut him, and he bleeds, just like the endless, empty bottles that make him so sick, so sick in the mornings. 

Hope is such a cruel thing. 

The voices start to whisper ceaselessly.

Then they start to _scream_.

He can't find his way back. It's so very dark and loud and it's so much easier to give up. Charles can't take this anymore. 

There's no one left for him to place his faith, after all. Certainly not himself; not after how he'd been so wrong. He'd failed Erik, wasn't able to help him—

No. Don't think about him, _don't_. 

Hank still won't leave.

Charles, darkly, hopes he does, hopes he will, just like all the rest of them.

Hank isn't an eloquent speaker, for which Charles is grateful. He really doesn't want to listen to someone who can't comprehend his pain to try to pry him out of this. Hank used to be so shy and earnest, but Raven leaving and the death and departure of his friends have inevitably marked him too.

Charles can't bring himself to say thank you to Hank, not for a long time. Hank is wasting himself. Charles is wasting himself.

He doesn't care. He—

He doesn't care.

So Charles drowns himself bottle after bottle so he won't have to listen to the rest of the world's, which matters not at all to him. He doesn't give a fuck if there are people out there who need him, need his powers—

He can't be there. It's all hopeless, regardless. Even after his best efforts, they'd all left anyway. The world's always going to suffer, nothing he does is enough.

( _Erik_ left.)

Days pass. Months. Years.

"Why don't you leave," Charles snaps one day/night/afternoon, he can't be bothered to keep track, not in his haze. He can't keep track of his words anymore, either. "Leave like the rest of them. No one cares. I certainly won't care."

No one's left to care.

He feels numb, and guilt claws at him when Hank recoils, taking a deep breath and says, "I'm not leaving you."

The guilt that follows hurts even more, because Charles is so relieved and grateful that Hank's staying. He shouldn't be. He's killing himself and Hank is going to go down with him, because the nightmares haven't gotten any better.

No, they've become worse.

The dreams that have Raven laughing under the sun, bright yellow eyes glowing with joy, teasing words. And Erik, smiling at him with that ridiculous smile, murmuring softly, amused and fond—

Those dreams are the worst.

For a telepath, Charles thinks wryly, it is laughable how much he's lost control over his own thoughts.

He loses sleep, not that he's ever slept much. Hank notices, but he doesn't ask. He listens to Charles go on about nothing and everything that's ever mattered.

"Erik doesn't deserve your love," Hank says angrily, once. Only once, because then Charles' eyes go wet and his mouth goes dry and the world is suddenly horribly silent. Charles tries to think, yes, Erik doesn't deserve anything he'd given him. Charles never should have tried with him. But...

"God, Charles, I'm sorry—"

Charles stops Hank's apologies and starts his own, "oh Hank, I'm so sorry," he pleads. "Please, don't—" don't leave? But he won't ask that of Hank, absolutely will not. "I'm sorry."

Hank seems to know what he means anyway.

They don't speak about it afterwards. Nor do the screams in his mind get any duller. The ache in his heart comes back every day, unwilling to be permanently numbed.

Finally, one day, Hank appears before Charles and hands him a set of vials. His blue fur is gone, and Charles blinks very slowly, eyes wet.

For once in his life, possibly the rest of his life, he's free. 

Free of the responsibilities of being a fucking telepath.

Free of the world that's never done anything for him.

Free of his regret over Raven, his sorrow.

Free of his love for Erik that's morphed into hatred and heartbreak.

( _Erik._ )

"Thank you," Charles breathes, and Hank offers him a sad smile. 

The voices inside his head go numb, and eventually, deadly silent. He can sleep without ghosts of people dead and alive haunting him now. Now, Charles only hears his heart beating, and it sounds like a mockery. He'd never thought a dead man's heart could still beat.

And if Charles starts talking more, about nothing and everything, to fill in that silence, it's not because he's lonely and empty. It's to drown the damned longing for cursed hope away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very welcome! It'd be nice to hear what you guys think. I'm considering to write more, maybe.


End file.
